


Theophany

by amyowlett



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-09-29 15:45:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20438501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyowlett/pseuds/amyowlett
Summary: AU - VOLDEMORT DOESN'T EXIST. Loosely inspired by the show 'Derry Girls'.Ireland, 1996. Hermione Granger is a student at 'Theophany School for Catholic Muggleborn Girls', having never been allowed at Hogwarts due to her blood status. Inspired by the 'Friends across borders' act of Northern Irish Catholics and Republic of Ireland Protestants spending time together to understand and appreciate their differences, Hogwarts and Theophany set up an exchange programme both with Hogwarts and the neighbouring Muggleborn Catholic boys school. Narcissa Malfoy is the potions professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As soon as she meets Hermione Granger, it's hate at first sight. But, when they meet again two years later, are they able to seperate their differences and fight against a hidden evil, determined to commit genocide against all Muggleborns, with Hermione right at the forefront of the hate campaign?





	1. Chapter 1

It was certainly quite a shock when I was first delivered that letter attached to the beak of an owl, looking rather like a young child's tea-stained History homework. Even more so of a shock when there was a knock on the door of my parents modest London home one evening and I came face to face with Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts school, greeting me with a simple 'Good Afternoon, Miss Granger' before I even had the chance to introduce myself.  
I had always been an intelligent child, but I had never been so utterly confused in my life when this strange woman sat upon my sofa and explained to my parents and I that I was apparently a witch.  
According to the elderly woman, I was a registered 'Muggleborn', a term I had never heard before. It was only a mere week later that I was crying in my parents arms as I said goodbye with a heavy heart. We had been informed in our visit from Professor McGonagall of 'Diagon Alley' and how to access it, which was all quite new and overwhelming - particularly for my parents, who had long since lost their childhood wonder and excitement.  
Hours and hours of studying and reading about my new school and the subjects I would cover led me to this moment, standing in the middle of Hyde Park. There was no one around me save for my parents, and we were hidden in a clearing of bushes, exactly where the books had instructed me to go - left at the green bench, right at the lamppost and right again at the rubbish bin. Now my parents and I stood before a large, but rather pathetic looking oak tree.  
"Well, go on, then!" My father encouraged, both him and my Mother looking extremely sceptical. With a shaky hand, and a pounding heart, I lifted the small wooden stick a peculiar fellow named Ollivander had sold to me, and tapped three times upon the old oak.  
Silence. My Dad let out a sigh. My mother placed a sympathetic hand upon my shoulder. Then all of a sudden the tree began to split apart in the middle, groaning and creaking and separating like a pair of curved lift doors. Inside, a space large enough to fit my 11-year-old body and my small blue suitcase, blue of course to fight the gender stereotyping of colours. I would have never been caught dead in pink. The last thing I saw before the doors shut were my parents, smiling tearfully, waving goodbye as I steeled myself for this new adventure.

* * *

"Hit it harder, Ms Duisky!" Came a steely Irish accent, razor sharp and directed solely on the girl in front of me.  
"I'm bloody trying!" Moaned Chantelle, grumbling as she tried unsuccessfully to hit the hockey ball, instead taking a considerable lump out of the grass.  
"Miss, this is boring!" complained another girl.  
"Can we go inside now?" whined Aisling, who stood with her hands on her hips beside Chantelle, dressed in the school PE kit of a white pleated skirt, a white polo shirt and a pair of white plimsolls.  
"No, ladies!" Mrs Dunn shouted back, face puffing up with anger, "You only have to do this once a week! Now get those feet moving!"  
"Ugh!" Chantelle pulled a face and threw the finger up at Mrs Dunn behind her back, Mrs Dunn being the short haired bulldog that kidnapped us every week for Physical Education class, before pathetically attempting to tackle the ball from Marsha, a pudgy but rather fierce girl.  
"I don't understand how you get away with it," Chantelle groaned, appearing above me as the final whistle was blown.  
"What?" I grinned.  
"This!" she exclaimed, laughing at me, "Every PE lesson she lets you just sit there and read a book! It's no fair!"  
"Bitch, you can't even read!" Aisling exclaimed, appearing beside her, a grin on her face.  
"It's because I'm actually nice to Mrs Dunn, Chantelle. I don't call her a lesbian to her face."  
"But she is one! And so am I! Well, I'm Pan, but that counts!"  
"Bitch, I'm a lesbian, Chantelle!" I laughed, slapping my head into my palm, "You don't catch me calling our PE teacher that!"  
"I'm a lesbian, too!" Chimed in Aisling as we both turned to her.  
"No you're not?" I blinked.  
"OMG, are you coming out to us!?" Chantelle squealed with excitement.  
"Oh, no. I'm straight, probably. As far as I know. Uh. Just wanted to join in."  
"Fucks sake Ais," the brunette laughed, "Now come on, we need to get changed! I'm not being late to Mr McFittie's lesson!" Chantelle grinned.  
"It's Mr McVitie!" I corrected with a roll of my eyes, to which Chantelle merely gave me the finger and grinned.  
We then headed up to the PE building, a small concrete shack literally consisting of a changing room, showers and toilets. On the way to English, we ducked into the girls toilets and I hoisted myself up to sit on the sink as Chantelle did her makeup. Her hair was a dark brown shade, curly and often up in a ponytail, dark bronzer on her cheeks and a septum piercing wedged through her nose. Her tartan school skirt was hiked up as high as possible without flashing anyone, and her knee high school socks were always rolled down to her ankles.  
Beside her, as Chantelle re-applied a layer of foundation, Aisling simply slid a layer of lip gloss on and she was ready to go. They were cousins, both Irish, but where Chantelle surprisingly seemed to top the two in intelligence - when she bothered to show it, Aisling however, exceeded all three of us in looks. She had soft, glossy, golden blonde hair, bright blue doe eyes, knife-like cheekbones and full, red lips.  
All of a sudden, Chantelle paused, "Oi, shall we just bunk the lesson?" she grinned.  
"What's the point?" I rolled my eyes.  
"Well... I'm game." Aisling shrugged.  
"We can't do that, we have our NEWT mocks like, next week, and our A level mocks the week after." I reminded them.  
"Oh fuck, forgot about that shite." Aisling complained.  
"Cmonnnn," Chantelle pleaded, "I'm so not in the mood to do English!" looking like she was about to cry, I took pity on the girl.  
"But what about Mr McVitie?" I questioned in a last ditch event to persuade her not to skip the lesson.  
"Oh yeah!" all of a sudden, the girl brightened up, "Forgot about that. Cmon, hurry up!" And just like that, Chantelle was fluffing her hair and out of the door, ready to go. Aisling and I simply shared a look of half-laughter-half-despair and followed her out.  
The air around us was fresh, crisp and cold as we followed the gravel path up the hill. Soon enough, 'Theophany School for Young Catholic Muggleborn Girls' came into view. From what I heard it was distinctly unimpressive compared to the well known 'Hogwarts', but I was not incredibly interested in that. As far as I was concerned, I was here to learn, not to explore some cold, silly, magical castle.  
Above us, perched atop a grassy hill, stood Theophany. It was once a Church, converted in the Victorian Era to be used as a school. There were many silly stories about the school being haunted by the first Headmistress here, who had died falling from the bell tower - as Chantelle and Aisling often liked to recall to the First Years - but I didn't tend to bother with all of that. As long as they didn't disturb me or my studying, I didn't particularly care.  
The school presented a grey, primal landscape, filled with grey slate, narrow slit windows and ivy-covered stone, topped by a bell tower and four, coned spires. Before us were two oak wooden doors, protected by identical gargoyles on either side, fierce-looking lions with a constant roar and canines at least four inches in length.  
"Alright, girls?" came a gruff voice.  
"Alright, Barry?" grinned Aisling, skipping over like a young girl to pet the gargoyle.  
"Not much defence to the School, are you Barry?" Grumbled Larry.  
"At least I'm not fat." Barry muttered.  
"What did you say!?" Larry shouted, roaring fiercely as Barry rolled over onto his back, his concrete stomach being ticked by Aisling as she watched the two Gargoyles communicate.  
"Larry, you're still Mr Ireland 1996 in my eyes, don't you worry." Chantelle grinned, despite the fact that the Gargoyle probably didn't know what that meant.  
"What was that about not being late?" I questioned with a laugh, watching Chantelle wink at Larry as he preened under the attention.  
"Oh, shit!" Chantelle shouted, and all I had time for was a short bubble of laughter to escape my mouth before suddenly the three of us were sprinting through the large church, skidding to a stop outside a large, foreboding wooden door.  
"You go first!" Aisling hissed, pushing me to the front.  
"No, you go first!" I whispered to Chantelle, pushing the brunette so hard she stumbled into the door, smashing it wide open.  
Mr McVitie stood at the edge of the class, his eyes whipping towards us as Chantelle sprawled onto the concrete floor, Aisling going down with her as Chantelle had managed to grab a hold of the girls cardigan. The class of twenty or so girls, our whole year group in fact, stared back at us in surprise as I took in the situation.  
My eyes travelled around, until they landed at the front of the classroom and I held my breath in shock. Right there, not two metres away from me, stood quite easily the most beautiful woman I had ever encountered. As her eyes gently lifted from the my friends on the floor to me, I could see quite clearly that I had never met someone like her before. She wore the most incredible set of rich, dark, emerald robes, velvety and smooth with undulating lines of real, glinting silver. She was exquisite, divine, simply radiating wealth, confidence oozing from her pores as she stood with her back rigidly straight, hands clasped in front of her in a assured yet guarded pose.  
In the dim light of the School windows, her soft, platinum blonde hair shone as eyes like frozen ice looked me up and down, her nose upturned as she clearly displayed her contempt at the situation.  
Briefly, almost as if time had slowed down completely, I considered my options. I could offer a meek apology and scutter to the back of the classroom as my friends picked themselves up from the cold concrete floor. Or, I could do this.  
"Oh, did we interrupt?" I questioned innocently, loosening my tie. She looked at me now, really looked at me, and I could have sworn I could see the hairs bristle on her neck. Staying completely still, rather like a porcelain doll, her eyes feeling as if they were literally burning into my soul, I grinned. "I'm sure you'll get over it!"  
"Whoop! That's my bitch!" Chantelle shouted into the utterly dead silent classroom, a sound like a thousand bullets ricocheting through the air reaching my ears as I slapped her hand in a victorious high five.  
"Girls! Outside, now!" seethed a bright red Mr McVitie, his fists scrunched up in pure rage.  
"Hmm," I checked my watch as we stood alone in the silent corridor, "We were only in there for two minutes."  
"Ooh!" Chantelle ignored me completely, "I fucking love it when Bad Bitch Hermione comes out, I really do!" she shouted gleefully, dancing about in the dim corridor. I rolled my eyes, but before I had time to reply, the classroom door swung open, revealing an unbothered looking Aisling and behind her, Mr McVitie, who was now a concerning shade of purple.  
"Ais!" Chantelle clapped her hands together happily.  
"Threw a pen at Sir," she grinned, "I felt left out."  
"Girls! Silence!" Mr McVitie suddenly screamed, causing us to all turn to him in surprise. He was young, and had a shaggy beard with a clean cut head of chestnut hair and attractive, chiselled features. He was usually quite chilled out - in fact, I had never seen him get angry before - but this was on quite another level. It was surely past anger. In fact, as I took in his trembling chin and watery eyes, I realised it was something more akin to fear.  
"What?" Chantelle responded, rude with a hint of... flirtation?  
"Girls, please," he begged, "Not today, not her. Please. I'll lift all your detentions for my class for the next two weeks I swear to Our Lord Above, just please - not her." he was crying now, and we stood around awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Chantelle, of course, stepped forward eagerly.  
"Oh, don't worry, everything will be fine!" she cooed, wrapping her arm around him as she fished out a rather gross-looking tissue from his pocket and helped him dab his eyes.  
"Is this harassment?" I whispered to Aisling with a grin, watching our best friend give us a thumbs up as she patted the sobbing teacher on the back.  
"Probably," she responded, "But either way our school doesn't have the best record of dealing with that shit."  
"Ooh! She went there!" I grinned, knowing there had been quite a few articles in the Daily Prophet about the school back in the 70's before we got here, involving a certain priest and girls from the school. Since then, only male teachers have been allowed - due to a ruling by the Wizengamot, there would never again be a male Headmaster, even if he's the bloody Muggle Pope or something.  
All of a sudden, I was broken out of my reverie. A cold draft seemed to sweep over us, and the eerie sound of a creaking door opening caused us to turn and watch in slight horror as the mysterious woman loomed over Mr McVitie and Chantelle, both of whom were quite oblivious.  
"Ahem." she cleared her throat, a careful and precise gesture, eyes narrowed and piercing.

* * *

The very next day, we were sat out on the front lawn when the two mahogany doors burst open and an ashen-faced Mr McVitie appeared, a brown leather case in one hand and a coat in the other, his circular wire-framed glasses almost dropping from his nose as he wiped his tears and the two Gargoyles looked up in surprise.  
"As you can understand," came a voice so icy and heartless it cause goosebumps to appear on my pale arms, "I cannot have this kind of... incompetence in a school my son is planning to spend a time at. I simply won't allow it. I have already witnessed the..." her eyes fell onto Aisling, Chantelle and I lounging on the grass, looking directly at me as she hissed, "Scum, that you call pupils, I won't allow the teachers to be the same."  
"Of course, Lady Malfoy," came the deep voice of Sister Richardson, our Headmistress, someone most students only saw once or twice a school year due to her habit of hiding in her office with a bottle of Merlot and leaving everything to Sister Michael, the deputy headmistress. In fact, it was the first time I had actually seen her out in the sunlight, unfortunately disproving Aisling's theory that the woman was a vampire.  
"Malfoy?" Chantelle suddenly whispered, her face turning grey.  
"Weird name. Haha. Malfoy. More like..." Aisling paused, trying to think of a nickname for her.  
"That's Narcissa fucking Malfoy!" Chantelle hissed, as I frowned at the brunette and Aisling suddenly perked up.  
"Malfoy! More like How, foy?"  
"Shut up Aisling," I sighed, laughing slightly, "Hey, Chantelle, what's up pal?" I questioned, concerned now.  
"C'mon. We need to go." Chantelle frowned, no longer paying any attention to 'Mr McFitty' as the now apparently unemployed man traipsed away from the school, not needing to go far before he was past the schools pathetic anti-apparition wards to apparate away, most likely for the last time.  
The plan was obviously to find somewhere secluded to discuss whatever the hell was going on, but as we tried to sneak away a broad, Irish accent called out to us.  
"Girls!" Came the voice of Sister Michael.  
"Yes, Sister?" Aisling said awkwardly. Chantelle stayed quiet, which was when I knew something was seriously wrong.  
"You have Potions in approximately three minutes! Where do you think you're going?"  
"Umm..." I began awkwardly - I was usually a tremendous liar, but I could feel the weight of this Malfoy woman's stare like the weight of three hundred bricks upon my back. It felt rather like I was drowning every time I was in her presence, and she was simply watching from above. Waiting. Waiting until I drew my last breath, before silently sinking to the depths, the ghost of my last scream playing upon my blue lips, "We're going for a wee!"  
"A wee!? Where?" she exclaimed in confusion. Narcissa Malfoy merely watched on, like a silent bird watching it's prey.  
"Um. In the woods."  
"Get inside, now!" Sister Michael hissed, looking extremely irritated, although she was quite used to our antics, "Stay here. I'll find someone to escort you to your lessons." she whispered angrily, withdrawing a radio from beneath her nun robes to contact another teacher on site, quite an interesting use of Muggle technology.  
Lady Malfoy, for I was unsure of what to call her at this point, simply looked down at the muggle device with utterly unconcealed disdain.  
"I'll escort them."  
"I- It's not a problem, Ma'am-"  
"Nonsense," Narcissa said carefully, each word hissing from her lips like the silky soft words of a venomous snake, "I'm perfectly capable of escorting these three... mudbloods." a shark-like smile then appeared on her face without her doing so much as quirk the corners of her lips and narrow her eyebrows, and I flinched but said nothing, for the look that Sister Michael gave me was quite unlike any way she had looked at me before, and I respected the woman enough to shut my mouth.  
"Right. Do you know the way?" Aisling said awkwardly. Both Chantelle and Sister Michael looked like they were close to passing out, whilst Aisling seemed rather oblivious, and I - well, I wasn't entirely sure how I felt: it was certainly not a feeling I recognised.  
"There's not much here to navigate," the woman sniffed, looking around as if she was standing in a Hackney Council house, "Now come along..." her eyes settled upon mine, and something dangerous flickered beneath the layers of shimmering ice, "Children."

* * *

"Bye Sir!" I called out to Mr Donoghue, the first one out of the Psychology classroom as I raced down the empty hallways of the church. The small back door I squeezed through was already open, and I bumped right into Chantelle and Aisling as I slammed the wooden door shut and appeared in the sunshine around the back of the school.  
"We have three minutes!" Aisling announced in a panic, having checked her watch - although I was still unsure if she was able to read an analogue clock or not.  
"GO!" Chantelle shouted, and soon we were racing down the old stone path as if our life depended on it, appearing at the wooden shelter just as the bus was going to pull away.  
"Cian O'Docherty I swear to Our Lord if you don't stop right now I'm calling your mother!" Aisling screeched, the Catholic girl's voice reaching a crescendo I had not heard before. The bus had been trundling away, but pulled to an awkward stop diagonally across the road as the doors hissed open.  
"Hmm. Nice," Chantelle said, looking quite impressed, "Not sure why you didn't do that when we missed the bus for the Take That concert last year, but I'll let it slide."  
When we got on the bus, it was quite full, pretty much every pair of eyes staring at us, and there were two small children sat on the back seat. As the bus pulled away, Chantelle took the lead, heading straight for them.  
"Chantelle, there's no one here to impress," I giggled, "This isn't the 4:45 school bus. No one here needs to know you're the badass who always gets the back seat, alright? Leave the kids alone." I laughed, shaking my head at her.  
"Fine." the girl grumbled, sliding into a seat near the front as Aisling and I took the two behind her.  
My mind, as it seemed to be doing very often of late, slipped back to 'Lady Malfoy' as she had instructed us to call her, the only words she spoke after escorting us to our Potions class, walking a few paces ahead the whole time as if we carried some sort of disease.  
We left school at 3:45pm, fifteen minutes before the school day ended, each of us forging notes from the school nurse, who was also our Arithmetic teacher, so we could catch the early bus home. We had been waiting all day to hear what had turned Chantelle the same colour as the cobwebs in the top corners of our English classroom, and we were unwilling to wait any longer.  
The bus pulled up, fifteen minutes later, on the edge of a hill ten minutes outside of the small seaside town of Easkey, right on the North Coast of Ireland. Every girl that studied at Theophany, of which there were around twenty or so per year group, were considered to be at boarding school, however everyone stayed in a small house on 'Theophany Street' instead of inside the school, as it there was barely enough room for us there as it is. Theophany Street was a street where every house was owned by the school and had been since the Victorian era, evident by the ugly red-bricked houses and how nothing in the house seemed to actually work.  
After the walk from the bus stop, we arrived in the centre of town, which consisted simply of a small Tesco Express, a Butchers and a Chip shop. We had always been known as the 'Theophany' three, as it was a Muggle town and we seemed to be the only girls unafraid of chatting to the locals. As long as we didn't breach the statue of secrecy, which was admittedly hard for Chantelle sometimes, we were fine, and most of the locals stayed away from anything concerning the school anyways. No one had ever seen it, of course, as if anyone came across it, it would appear as dilapidated ruins and they would feel a sudden urge that they had forgotten something at home, turning and most likely never returning. So, like good little Muggles, they didn't ask questions, and we never gave answers.  
"Afternoon, Craig!" Chantelle cheerfully greeted the chip shop owner, a weathered ex-sailor who tried desperately to hide his grin as we dropped our handbags on the table, pretending to bother looking at the menu as if we didn't know it off by heart.  
"I'll have a battered sausage and small chips." Chantelle said flirtatiously, the whole time keeping eyes on the young, good looking Scottish lad that had started working here only a week ago and whom Chantelle had already fallen in love with.  
"I'll just have a cone of chips please, Craig." I nodded at the man with a smile.  
"All good, aye." he coughed out.  
"Yeah, Craig, I'll have..." Aisling paused for a moment, "A nice bit of cod, a chip butty, a non-battered sausage, that's non-battered Craig, a large chips, a roast chicken, eight chicken nuggets, a burger and two pots of curry sauce, there's a good lad." Aisling turned from the pricelist behind the counter to look at the man, but he was already gone, giving the kitchen our orders - Aisling ordered the exact same thing every time we came here no matter what, always had and probably always would. We used to worry about the amount she ate, but she never seemed to gain weight and had enough money so we just gave up telling her after a while.  
"Hey, guys, can you give me a minute?" I muttered briefly. My best friends barely noticed as our chips were ready to order, so we were given them immediately, and so I took my small cone of chips and left.  
I had thought I had seen something across the street, but I was quite unsure. No, I was sure. There was no way it was her. Absolutely not.  
"Need any help?" I said, absentmindedly watching Narcissa poke at a large, metal, bright green post box. I had to give her credit, I was quite confused when I arrived in Ireland and the post boxes were not the striking red I was expecting.  
"Absolutely not." Narcissa responded, quite impressively hiding both her surprise and embarrassment at seeing me.  
"Ok. Cool." I said. It was cold, and the wind was harsh, but the sun was out and I squinted casually as I continued to watch the woman, slowly eating my chips.  
"I am not a caged owl!" she exclaimed, finally showing some sort of feeling other than vague disdain, "There is no need to watch me, Miss Granger, you insolent brat! You should not even be here, you should be at Theophany!"  
"Well, I'm enjoying it, soz," I responded with a shrug, her words barely even registering as I watched the way the wind caressed her skin as if she was a delicate painting, so soft and careful as if she was one small gust away from disintegrating completely - or perhaps the wind was intimidated by the sheer power that radiated from the older woman as she stood, glancing between me and the green post box, "Chip?" I offered.  
"I - What is a Chip?" she exclaimed with a considerable amount of frustration. I felt almost like I was dealing with a petulant child, and at any moment she was going to stamp her Designer heels on the floor and throw her £300 toys out of her £3000 pram.  
Taking a step closer, I smiled gently, "Try it."  
She glanced down. A second passed. A simple second, and in that one simple second I saw thousands of different emotions flicker through her grey orbs. Childish excitement. Wonder. Intrigue. Embarrassment. Shame. And finally, anger. "I'm not touching your disgusting Muggle food!" she hissed, taking a step back as if I had burnt her. Ah, there it was. Vulnerability. She was out of her depth, and I was sure that was not something that happened often.  
"So I'm guessing you're trying to post a letter?" I questioned, moving on. My chips were cold. I chucked the rest of them in a nearby bin.  
"Yes, because your absolute state of a school does not have an Owlery!"  
"Well, we don't have room for an Owlery," I shrugged, "And we barely have enough funding from the government as it is, Sister Richardson isn't going to bother asking for any more for an extension, particularly as half of the money goes in her pocket anyways." Narcissa opened her mouth to argue, but no sound came out. I was sure she was aware of this, it was most likely my knowledge that shocked her, "It's not hard to deduce. Besides, we're all Muggleborns. We aren't stupid," I grinned, and she raised an eyebrow, but let me continue, "We all just use this." I pointed at the post box.  
"How does it work?" Narcissa asked, momentarily forgetting who she was as she glanced at it curiously.  
"Well, we put our letters in with addresses on, and a Muggle comes and picks it up and delivers it - sort of like an Owl, but for everyone. And it's free, you just have to pay for stamps."  
"Address? Stamp?" the woman blinked.  
"Do you mind showing me your letter?" I questioned. For a brief moment I was sure she was going to hex me purely just for asking, but a dainty hand reached out carefully and placed a piece of parchment in my hand. It was rolled into a scroll and had no envelope, let alone sending address or stamp.  
"There." she huffed.  
"Right," I said, resisting the urge to giggle, "Um... I would suggest that you just take this back to the school and Sister Michael will sort out an owl for you. If it's confidential and you need to sent it yourself, your best bet would be apparating elsewhere and using your personal Owl or a Hogwarts Owl. It would be... um... difficult to post this."  
"Why can't I 'post' this? That's preposterous! I am absolutely not taking your advice!" she exclaimed with a huff.  
"Cool," I shrugged, unable to help smiling fondly at the clueless woman, "You do you, I guess." with one last, soft, smile I headed back to the chip shop, leaving Narcissa Malfoy alone at the bright green post box, a shocked expression upon her beautiful features.

* * *

Our houses were quite unimpressive, and identical in their narrow rows, our front garden messy and untamed. As we had left school early, our House Mistress, who was also the School Nurse and our Arithmetic teacher, was not yet back, so we let ourselves in. Reminiscent of the narrow canal houses of Amsterdam, our Boarding house was tall and narrow, with three floors - the top containing our bedrooms, the middle containing our House Mistress' rooms and the bottom floor for the kitchen and living room.  
Flopping down on her bunk bed, Chantelle let out a dramatic sigh, "Today has been a hell of a day."  
"Tell me about it." I grumbled, collapsing beside her.  
"So," Aisling took a seat on my bunk bed across the room, the light shining in through a circular window shining upon the dust that rose from the old, springy mattress, "What the fuck is up, bro?"  
"Mate, I don't even know at this point. Do you guys seriously not know who Narcissa Malfoy is?" Chantelle hissed her name, almost as if at any moment the woman would burst out of nowhere and start choking us to death.  
In all fairness, I wouldn't entirely mind that.  
"Nope," Aisling shrugged, and I followed suit, "All I know from meeting her today is she's hella racist. Or bloodist. Whatever."  
"Narcissa Malfoy..." Chantelle stood up, beginning to pace around the room, "Narcissa Malfoy is... she's an enigma. She must be the most powerful woman in the whole of Britain and Ireland! I didn't hear about her until halfway through my second year. I was still new to all this 'Wizarding' shite and subscribed to Wizards Weekly. Every week there was a whole fricking page dedicated to just her outfits!"  
"What, so, she's like, a celebrity? Like... Michael Jackson?"  
"Urm... not quite, Aisling. She's more like a... socialite. Famous for her wealth, basically. But in the Wizarding world, she certainly has Michael Jackson fame, in Great Britain and Ireland at least. I didn't recognise her at first as I never bothered to read any articles about her, but fuck me... as soon as I heard that name, that surname, even, I couldn't look at her the same way!"  
"Uhh... Mione, you alright?" questioned Aisling, interrupting Chantelle. All the while, I had silently been listening to Chantelle, my mind positively whirring with this woman, this woman who I absolutely could not rid from my mind. It was like a plague that had taken over me, in which every single step I took and every movement I made I thought of her and only her.  
"Yeah. I'm fine. Just a headache. I'm gonna read for a bit then maybe we can go out and do something, yeah?"  
"Sure," Chantelle shrugged, looking almost disappointed I hadn't reacted to her news more - but little did she know that the very mention of that woman's name now sent my brain into a muddle and violently shoved buckets of butterflies down my throat in an aggressive and wholly disconcerting swirl of nerves, uncertainty and a lot of other things I couldn't quite place.


	2. Chapter 2

"Silence in the 21st century," began Sister Michael, standing at the altar, "Is a rare occurrence. So too is stillness. Sometimes, silence needs to be guided so that minds do not wander," Chantelle began to yawn, "I want you to think for a moment about something that you are anxious about and give this thought to God."  
"Losing my virginity." Chantelle whispered with a snort.  
"Pfft, you lost that ages ago!" Aisling giggled as Chantelle elbowed her in the ribs.  
"I'm anxious about how much longer Mass is going to take." I grumbled, closing the book I had secretly been reading with a huff, unable to concentrate.  
"Now think about somebody else in this place of prayer and what they may be worried about," Sister Michael continued, "Give these concerns to God and pray for them in your heart."  
"Chantelle wants to know when she's gonna lose her virginity!" I called out with a snort, quickly ducking down behind my pew as Sister Michael looked wildly around, searching for the culprit. Her eyes settled on Chantelle, who was in fits of laughter, but could not find Aisling or due to our hiding place, so she moved on.  
"Take the last few moments to thank God for something. This could be something you have learned today, or an interest that you have, or anything else that comes to mind."  
"Thanks for giving me big tits!" Chantelle whispered, which sent Aisling and I into fits of laughter, still crouching where we were. We were still giggling when everything fell silent and Sister Michael appeared, looking down on us as we crouched on the concrete hall of the Chapel.  
"Oops." Aisling giggled.  
"Girls! Outside, now!" she growled.  
"We lasted a good ten minutes guys!" I announced happily as we stood outside the two large doors of the Chapel. Despite Theophany being a converted Church, it was apparently not suitable enough to pray, so long ago a Chapel was built just five minutes from Theophany, which was where we stood now.  
Above us, dark grey clouds threatened a ferocious storm, the river running alongside the gothic chapel already overflowing due to the past few days of torrential rain. I watched in silence as Chantelle popped a piece of bubble gum in her mouth and Aisling toed her black, against-regulation leather trainers into the muddy grass.  
"I hate Mass. It's so boring," Chantelle complained, "I'm not even religious. Like, don't get me wrong, I'm not hatin' on the whole 'Religion' 'ting, it's just not my 'ting, you feel me?"  
"I'm not religious either," I shrugged, "Although if someone is willing to scientifically prove to me that God exists then I'm all for it."  
"I believe in God," Aisling shrugged, "But I don't see why we all have to go to a Catholic school."  
"Because there are literally no other schools for Muggleborns, Ais." I sighed.  
"Fuck the patriarchy!" Chantelle announced cheerfully, "OW! What was that for?"  
"They can still hear us!" I laughed, "But yeah, it's annoying. I don't see why we aren't allowed to go to Hogwarts. Not that I care, anyways." I sniffed.  
"Fuck Hogwarts!" Aisling announced, and I was about to cheer along with her when the Chapel doors burst open, to reveal a fuming Sister Michael and none other than the Lady herself, Narcissa Malfoy.  
"Girls! Inside! Now!"  
"God, make your mind up," Chantelle muttered, "In, out, in, out, shake it all about."  
"Chantelle-Deva Duisky-Docherty, get your arse inside right bloody now!" hissed the Nun, her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared, "And not another peep from a single one of you, do you hear me!?"  
"Whatever." Chantelle grumbled, and I was still giggling as we re-took our places at the wooden pews. The sound of Narcissa's heels clicking on the marble floor drew my attention to her swinging hips, and I sighed softly, wondering what it was about her that fascinated me so very deeply. Standing at the altar, she surveyed us carefully, her face showing a considerable amount of contempt for us 'Muggleborns'.  
Behind the woman was a large, wonderful stained glass window. The sun revealed itself momentarily, and it shone from behind giving Narcissa a golden glow, like an angel sent down from heaven by Our Lord Himself.  
"Ahem," she began, and I noticed the way the very action of her clearing her throat simply demanded attention, every student in the school hanging onto each syllable that dripped from her blood-red painted lips like honeyed gold, "Many of you must be wondering why I am here. I'm sure you all know who I am," Narcissa continued, her eyes falling on me just as I rolled my eyes, "But for those who don't, I am Lady Malfoy of Malfoy Manor, and current Potions Proffessor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft at Wizardry."  
"I didn't know that!" Chantelle whispered in surprise. I was equally shocked. Women like her never tended to have jobs - if it wasn't their wealth or social status, it was often their husbands barring them.  
"I am here to offer all Sixth Years the opportunity to join a Foreign Exchange programme with Hogwarts, as organised by our Headmaster Albus Dumbledore," Narcissa grimaced at that, as if the mere mention of the man rubbed her up the wrong way. It was very clear that she was extremely against this idea, the mixing of Halfbloods and Purebloods with us Muggleborns - perhaps that was why this Dumbledore fellow sent her here - the idea of that made me smirk slightly.  
"Oh the Lord has answered my prayers!" Chantelle said happily, clearly having made the connection that whilst we were an all girls school, Hogwarts was not.  
"In two weeks time, a selection of students from Hogwarts will come and stay with you. Due to the sheer number of Hogwarts students in comparison to Theophany girls, whilst you will all have the opportunity to visit Hogwarts, only a select few will be here for the week, the brightest and best students of Sixth Year Hogwarts, which of course, includes my son, Draco." the woman preened slightly, almost, but not quite, smiling.  
"God, I hope her son isn't as fucking awful as she is." Aisling groaned.  
"He's going to be our worst nightmare, I can tell already." I grimaced.  
"Due to your... accommodation situations, there won't be enough room in any of your houses to look after the twenty Hogwarts students, so they will be staying in the," Narcissa frowned and looked down at the piece of paper she was holding, "Bed... breakfast?"  
"It's just Bed and Breakfast, Ma'am." Sister Michael appeared to whisper to the blonde as she stepped forward. Chantelle and I began to giggle at the clueless woman, but one glare from her and we fell silent.  
"They will be here for a week," she raised an eyebrow, and the hum of students' excited chatter cut out completely, "I expect you all to be on your best behaviour."  
"Well," Sister Michael began, "I think you'll find my girls are always -"  
"After that week is over," Narcissa ignored the woman, "You will be at Hogwarts for two weeks, as that allows for the students unable to come to Theophany more time to... adjust to your kind. Think of it as... integration." she grimaced slightly.  
"Kind? Integration? We aren't fucking robots, mate." Chantelle glared at the blonde.  
"God, she does my actual nut in!" I complained in a hushed voice. It was true. She was simultaneously the most irritating, terrifying and most intriguing woman I had ever met. But there was something about her, aside from her wonderous looks and beautiful, lithe body, that simply would not let her escape from my every waking thought. It was as if I had been doused with a love potion, wherein my every movement I was thinking of her, and only her. No one else. Just her.

* * *

"Quick! Now!" Aisling hissed as we rounded a corner and our PE teacher Mrs Dunn was momentarily out of sight. Taking a sharp left, we dove behind a bush and watched as the rest of our class continued to run along. Seconds later, Chantelle stood up sharply.  
"Careful! She might see you!" I whispered, trying to pull her back down.  
"Nonsense!" the Irish girl let out a lilting laugh, "We're safe. C'mon."  
Following Chantelle, we jogged down a small dip and collapsed on the grass, hidden from view.  
"Finally!" she moaned as I pulled a packet of Marlboro Lights from my blazer pocket.  
"More has happened this week than our six years at this fucking school," I complained, "Like what is actually going on? Cheers." I nodded at Chantelle as she chucked me the lighter.  
"I know!" Aisling laughed, "Ever since Narshitta arrived."  
"Hey! Don't call her that!"  
"Ooh, what, you getting a soft spot for the devil incarnate?" Chantelle laughed at me momentarily, before she began to splutter and cough, smoke pouring out of her nose, "Wait, you actually do?"  
"Well, I can kinda see it too, to be fair, Hermione." Aisling shrugged, flicking a lock of soft, blonde hair from her shoulder.  
"No! I do not fancy that psychopath!" I insisted, blowing smoke in Chantelle's face as she continued to cough, midway poking her finger up at me.  
"Sure, whatever," Chantelle laughed, "I can't wait to hold that over your head next time your bushy ass hair breaks my brush."  
"Oi! I don't break them on purpose!" I laughed, shoving her shoulder gently.  
"God, this is so weird," Chantelle lay down, her head resting on Aisling's lap, "Imagine if you told us in first year we would be sat here together, best friends, smoking a fag instead of running Cross Country."  
"Well, for a start, this one," Aisling pointed at me, "Would have never dreamt of touching a cigarette, let alone ditching a class."  
"God, I kinda miss that little English prick," Chantelle smiled softly, "You were so annoying."  
"And you were a bully!" I laughed, "At least I can force you to do your homework now. And you, Ais, are one to talk! Last night you were debating with me the moral dimensions of slaying unicorns for their horns as a potions ingredient! In first year, you were far more interested in whether your nail polish had chipped in Herbology."  
"Shut up, 'Mione," the blonde laughed, glancing down at the brunette on her lap, "At least I didn't bully fifteen year olds when I was only eleven!"  
"Hey, I'm not proud of that!" Chantelle frowned, "I'm way past that stage of my life. I'm friends with them all now! I'll never do it again," she frowned, "That is, unless any of these Hogwarts pricks get rude to me."  
"I'm sure they wouldn't dare," I laughed, "God, it's weird though. You guys always forget I'm English 'cause I have an Irish accent now."  
"We try and forget." Aisling joked.  
"I'm just saying! I've heard Hogwarts is majority English students!"  
"Bloody English. Can't escape them." Chantelle grinned.  
"What is it with you Irish folks hating English people, then?"  
"We just do," Aisling giggled, "You're English, like... What's there not to hate?"

* * *

  
"HERMIONE!" Came a bellowing scream, more akin to a lions roar, so loud it shook the very walls of my dorm room. Staying perfectly still, I ignored the girl, continuing to read 'Hogwarts: A History' in silence.  
Moments later, the door burst open.  
"Hermione, she's done it again! Again!" Chantelle screeched angrily, her face bright red. Taking a deep breath, I placed my book to the side.  
"What happened, Chan'?"  
"Look!" the girl screeched, stepping forward to brandish a small object.  
"That's a lipgloss."  
"Yeah, but look at it!" shoving the brush of it in my face, she stomped her foot and huffed, "It's purple!"  
"I can see that."  
"It's purple, Hermione."  
"Yep, definitely purple."  
"Hermione, it's PURPLE! There is only one person in this household who wears purple lipstick!"  
Closing my eyes, I took another deep breath before turning to look across the room.  
"Yulia?"  
"Ya?" came a thick, deep, Russian accent. Sat across from us, in a rather dark corner despite it being early afternoon, was our fourth and final dorm-mate. She was dressed, as she often was, in black leather trousers, a black leather jacket and black, pointed, heeled boots.  
"Did you use Chantelle's lipgloss?"  
"I do not know this word," Yulia responded popping her purple lips as she raised a thin, black eyebrow, "Lip... glass?"  
"LipGLOSS, Yulia, for your lips! To make them glossy!" Chantelle stomped her foot once again, and I grimaced.  
"Yulia, you can speak English as well as I can. Just own up so you can go on and sit in your weird little armchair in the dark and scare all of us ever so slightly once more."  
"Fine," the girl shrugged, her silky, raven black bob swishing slightly, moving against the blacked-out sunglasses upon her pale face. I was starting to become convinced she was blind - she hadn't taken those sunglasses off since first year. "It was me. Your lip gloss is... average."  
"Ha! I knew it!"  
"There we go, case closed." Turning, I made a movement to lay back on my bed but Chantelle shook my shoulder.  
"Wait! She needs to pay for it! I can't use this anymore."  
"For fu- Okay, Yulia, give Chantelle a fiver."  
"Okay." seemingly out of nowhere, the Russian girl produced a five pound Irish note.  
"Oh. Well." Chantelle blinked, then stomped over and snatched the money.  
"Didn't even say thank you. Classic Irish." Yulia drawled. Chantelle made to retort, but I just glared at her and she stormed off, probably to pour herself an Irish coffee - coffee with a dash of our House Mistress' 'hidden' whiskey, as was normal for all sixteen year olds to have.  
Finally. Peace.  
"Hermione!" Aisling burst in looking around frantically until she settled on where I was sat, now groaning with my head in my hands.  
"What now!?"  
"You need to come with me."  
"Please don't make me." I whimpered.  
"Narcissa freaking Malfoy is at the door!" she shrieked, panic in every syllable.  
"Who!?" I shrieked back, jumping up.  
"Narcissa freaking Malfoy!"  
"Oh, fuck!" I jumped up, looking around for something more presentable than the Chicken Chow-Mein-stained grey joggers I wore and the old Theophany hoodie I had dragged on when our House Mistress decided the heating was too high and turned it off completely. My bare feet were pressed against the uncomfortable, cold, wooden floorboards as I spotted a pair of jeans on a chair, not knowing whose they were but willing to deal with the consequences of wearing them if it meant Narcissa didn't think I was a complete and utter tramp.  
But, just as I whipped out my wand to summon them, there was movement in the corner of my eye, and there she was.  
Narcissa Malfoy. She wore a deep, black, sheath dress with a dainty white belt, her shoulders holding the most ridiculous, pure white fur coat I had ever seen, looking how I imagined the White Witch from the book Narnia to look, tall and foreboding and rather... well, attractive.  
"Um. Hi. How can I help you?"  
Narcissa took a step forward, her nose upturned as she looked around in disgust, "I'm not sure you can be of much help to me, Mudblood," she hissed, and I realised there was a new feeling of anger laced in her voice, something I was not quite used to, "But I'll be needing you to come with me. You're requested at Theophany, with 'Sister' Richardson." she sneered, her tone of voice indicating that one, she was no where near happy to see me, and two, she hadn't quite got a grip of the whole Nun, Religion, Catholic thing.  
"And they sent you to come and get me?" I frowned, confused.  
"Yes, they did." she sniffed, and even I could tell it was a lie. Cocking my head to the side, I surveyed her for a moment, wondering what her motive was.  
"Fine," I shrugged, "Let's go."  
It was quite a surreal experience, walking down the narrow, awkward stairway of my boarding house with such a powerful, rich woman. I had never imagined her to ever come near this place, and I could tell she was unimpressed as we walked through the kitchen to reach the front door and she surveyed all of our Muggle appliances, such as a Microwave and a Toaster, both of which I was sure she didn't recognise.  
"So... are we getting the bus?" I questioned.  
"No. Don't be silly. Are you... ready?" she frowned, glancing me up and down, my stained grey tracksuit obviously not making much impact on the fashionista.  
"Yeah. Are you?" I questioned, hiding my grin as I mirrored her act by looking her up and down, her cheeks aflame with embarrassment and anger.  
"Let's go." she hissed, and before I knew it, she was grabbing my hand and there was a sharp hook gripping my navel, wrenching my insides out from my belly. Everything was black and I felt as if I was being squeezed into a tiny box, for which I was sure I would not fit into. My pores were bleeding and my limbs were stretching like elastic bands. Then, less than half a second later, I was keeled over on the grass, having appeared outside Theophany without a single 'pop', making me realise what a powerful Witch that woman was.  
Said woman was now walking away from me, casting a cleaning charm on the hand she had touched me with as if my very skin was diseased and covered with pussy boils. Classic Narcissa. Past the nausea and vertigo, I dragged myself up and jogged alongside the woman, who was walking at an incredibly fast pace in her three hundred-inch heels.  
"Do you know the way to the Headmistress' office?" I questioned with a grin as we immediately took a wrong turn.  
"Of course I do," the blonde huffed, "It's not incredibly difficult, even for women of your calibre." she sneered.  
"Ok." I responded with an innocent smile. We appeared outside a door, and Narcissa opened it confidently. Inside were six young girls and a single teacher, all sat in silence, clearly there for a detention. Speaking of, I had one tomorrow with Chantelle because Aisling copied off of Saoirse and Saoirse was best friends with Siobane who sat next to ginger Aibhlinn and told ginger Aibhlinn (Not to be confused with blonde Aibhlinn) what Aisling had done so ginger Aibhlinn threw a rubber at Aisling so we decided to throw a box of rubbers and six pencils at the ginger pricks head. "You were saying?" I questioned with a grin, watching the woman shut the door with a hiss.  
"You're infuriating."  
"Whatever. C'mon, it's this way." I giggled. We arrived not more than two minutes later, having not shared a single word since. Three knocks on the door and we entered, finding ourselves face to face with Sister Richardson and Sister Michael. Most students never saw Sister Richardson, but Aisling, Chantelle and I were very familiar with the Headmistress' office, often finding ourselves in here once or twice a week. She had gotten so sick of us that whenever we knocked on the door she would either offer us a glass of whiskey and a fag or tell us to fuck off. It was usually the latter.  
"Good to see ya, Aiofe!" I said cheerfully, flopping down in the sofa at the edge of the room.  
"That's Sister Richardson to you, Ms Granger." Sister Michael huffed.  
"I know you love me really, Bridgid, and one day you will admit it to yourself."  
"Sit down, Ms Granger!"  
"I am!"  
"On the chair, Ms Granger!"  
"Oh, sure." I smiled innocently and manoeuvred off of the sofa to take a seat before Sister Richardson, as Sister Michael hovered behind the Headmistress, glowering at me. We had a complicated relationship at the best of times.  
"You got a lighter?" I questioned, and Sister Michael looked very much like she wanted to tear my head off as Sister Richardson, without missing a beat, took one from her beneath her weird Nun robes and handed it over. "Cheers, Aiofe!"  
In most situations, someone like Narcissa would be quite appalled at the whole situation, as Sister Michael was when she first saw me smoke with the headteacher a worrying amount of years ago. But, instead, I got to watch the unabashed fascination in the blonde's eyes as I took a cigarette from my pocket and lit it, clouds of soft grey cancerous smoke billowing into the dusty air. For once, I said nothing, did not make a single comment about the woman. Instead, I watched as she snapped back into character and ignored what I was doing as I handed the lighter back to the Nun.  
"It has come to our attention," Sister Michael began, speaking on behalf of Sister Richardson as that woman was probably not sober and even at the best of times, she had no idea what was going on, "That the student you have been assigned to for the foreign exchange is Draco Malfoy -"  
"What! Her son?" I questioned excitedly, rudely jabbing my thumb towards Narcissa who sat beside me, her back straight like a rod and her knees crossed, a strained smile on her face.  
"Yes, Lady Malfoy's son," Sister Michael continued, her smile equally strained, "And Lady Malfoy here has, for I think you understand, obvious reasons, put a request in for you to swap your exchange student to another student. For example, here we have a lovely boy, his name is Ronald Weasley-"  
"Absolutely not!" I interrupted gleefully.  
"Pardon!?" Narcissa exclaimed, turning to me now, "I won't have this! Change it now!"  
"Unfortunately, as the pairings were done with magic," Sister Michael continued, "They can only be changed with one of the involved parties consent, and -"  
"Change it now!" Narcissa hissed, glaring ferociously at me. Leaning back in my chair, I gazed happily up at the arched, painted wooden ceiling, decorated with garish golden leaves and dancing cherubs.  
"Hmm..." I tapped my chin, "What's in it for me?"  
"Pardon?" Narcissa exclaimed for the second time.  
"Well, I'm not doing it if there isn't some sort of compensation, let me tell ya!" I giggled.  
"I'll give you all the money you could wish for, girl!" she growled, "Now sign the parchment!" I glanced down, seeing a parchment a quill rambling on about this and that and boring legal foreign exchange stuff. I wondered briefly if I would need my passport to go to the UK or if they would transport us magically. I was sure this Dumbledore guy could pull a few strings, even though the borders here are obviously pretty tight at the moment.  
"Yeah, that's going to be a no from me, sorry Narcissa!" Leaning forward, I stubbed out my fag on the Headmistress' ashtray and gave the blonde a quick wave.  
Oh, she was mad.  
She was very, very mad. Calmly, I strode out of the office, but as soon as I swung the doors shut behind me I sprinted around the corner, actually quite scared of the woman. A second later, a bolt of orange light sped down the corridor, the hex so fast it blew my hair back from my face.  
Okay, she was madder than I thought. Probably shouldn't have used her first name. Cursing my lack of interest in anything that involved physical exercise, I began to sprint down the corridor, albeit not very fast. The last thing my mischievous and rather gleeful face saw as I glanced back was the absolutely raging face of Narcissa Malfoy as she screamed my name and sent another hex down the long, dim corridor. I had turned the corner, but couldn't quite resist one more jest as I called out, "Not very ladylike, is that Narcissa!?" 


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm actually quite nervous, y'know." Chantelle muttered, rubbing her hands together as we stood out in the cold, waiting for the Hogwarts students to arrive.

"Only because you're going to be surrounded by boys for, like, the first time." I snorted.

"Shut up, you lesbian." she laughed, turning away from me as the sound of chattering children reached our ears.

"They're coming" Aisling said excitedly, and sure enough, moments later, they appeared around the corner, coming up the narrow drive towards us. Frowning, I squinted, examining the carriages. They appeared to be pulled by themselves, with absolutely nothing powering them, no horse or goat or whatever one might use. The children sat there indifferent, though, as if it was nothing unusual, and I watched them draw closer with a mixture of excitement and unease. I wasn't the most sociable at the best of times, and meeting a whole group of new people wasn't exactly my idea of fun.

"Hello, and welcome to Theophany! I'm Sister Michael, Deputy Headmistress!" said the Nun, but they appeared to be far more interested in what she was wearing than her name, as they stared at her weird Nun headdress, or 'Veil' as it was technically called. Chantelle claimed that because she wasn't allowed to marry or whatever it shouldn't be called that as a veil is what brides wear.

The children began to jump down from their carriages, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Get a load of this lot!" Chantelle snorted. They were all dressed in proper robes, emblazoned with school logos and colours representing the houses they belonged to. They were quite significantly smarter than us, where we wore trainers instead of school shoes, Chantelle didn't even have a top button to do up and you could see her boobs she buttoned it so low. On top of that, Aisling hadn’t worn her tie for the third year in a row now. I often wondered how she was going to make it in the world alone if she really refused to wear her tie just because six years on she still didn't know how to tie it.  
Also, not to mention, all three of our skirts were hiked considerably far above the knee, so much so that Sister Michael had taken to just approaching us and randomly pulling them down to knee length. I was sure that wasn't allowed, but there wasn't exactly a Wizarding version of 'OFSTED' so they could sort of do whatever they wanted as long as it wasn't enough to warrant a visit from an Auror. It was actually quite bad, in all honesty, but we were used to it.

"Follow me!" Sister Michael announced once they were off their weird carriages and huddled in a small group.

"So are they gonna talk to us, 'den?" Chantelle asked bluntly, her nervousness obvious to me as her Irish accent became thicker.  
"Probably not. They all look English." Aisling scrunched up her nose.

"You guys remember I'm literally English, right?" I grinned as we turned and began to walk down the old, beaten path towards the chapel, Sister Michael at the front.

"You don't have that horrible accent anymore, though," Chantelle grinned, "Plus, you're basically Irish now. Even me Mammy sometimes forgets you're from London."

"Very reassuring." I grinned, rolling my eyes. We reached the chapel, standing proud against a harsh, grey skyline and a blistering, chilly wind. The trees around us whistled and shook, and it was a relief to be saved from the biting weather as we were bustled inside the church like cattle on market day, taking our seat at our usual pew on the back row. 

Sister Michael took her place at the Altar, the Headmistress nowhere to be seen. I supposed that she felt she had done her duties after spending a week dealing with Lady Malfoy. 

Speaking of the devil, there, behind Sister Michael, was the woman herself, standing tall and proud. I had not seen her since that day in the Headmistress' office, and she was still as beautiful as I remembered, if not more so. Seeing her in the flesh was excruciatingly exhilarating. I felt an odd pull to her, and I could not help it. In the past week, I had missed her deeply; like the ocean missed the shore, or a bookmark missed it's favourite pages. Each night I lay awake, her voice whispering my name the sweet lullaby that rocked me to sleep, her soft skin and silky hair wrapping me in a cocoon of soft happiness.

Now, however, she had found me in the crowd. As our eyes connected, she sent me a rather uncalled for glare, and I gave her a little wave back, smiling happily. Her scowl deepened, before remembering where she was and who she was, and she slipped back on her aloof mask of gentle, subtle disdain.

"Welcome, again, to Theophany, Hogwarts students, for the first time! As I mentioned, my name is Sister Michael, which is how the girls here refer to me, as it is simply a title used for women in religious life!" she tried to sound enthusiastic, but she was broaching a rather complicated subject and many of the students looked quite baffled, "We are a Catholic School, which means all the girls here follow a... a religion, which is, essentially," Sister Michael paused, fumbling for words as she tried to explain, glancing down at a sheet of paper before looking up again, "It's essentially defined as 'The belief in and worship of a superhuman controlling power,’' so we all, um, follow that, and we pray to these Gods, too."

"Yes, anyway, moving on..." Narcissa urged, clearly thinking Sister Michael was poisoning the precious Purebloods and Halfbloods with her explanation of religion. In my opinion she was kinda right. I mean, if you wanted to live a chilled out life without much conflict, it was probably easier to stay away from the whole 'Religion' thing.

"So, yes, I have here all the parchments denoting who is paired up with who, so I'll just call out the names and have you come up here, there we go..." Sister Michael found the right parchment after a few moments of silence.

"Mairead Boyle." the girl stood up and made her way to the front. A few moments later, "Andrew Button." and a tall, lanky, raven-haired boy walked to the front. 

"Orlaith Clery. Hannah Abbot."

"Chloe Deasmhumhain. Parvati Patil."

"Rionach Delaney. Alexander Abdul."

A few more names were called out, then: "Aisling McFersit."

"I hope it's some fucking massive weirdo." Chantelle whispered, grinning as Aisling stood up.

"You're horrible." I whispered back, laughing.

"Rachel Krupa." Watching carefully, I saw a girl rise from the pew and go to meet Aisling. She was short and slightly pudgy, with doe eyes, short blonde hair and bangs, looking absolutely terrified as she walked towards Aisling, her uniform black and blue, a ‘Ravenclaw’.

"Chantelle-Deva Duisky-Docherty." was the next name called out, and I watched with a fond smile as Sister Michael glared at the brunette, strutting down the aisle, surveying every boy in the crowd. 

"Elise Van de Berg." Sister Michael called out, and I watched in surprise as Chantelle's Hogwarts partner rose gracefully from the pew. She wasn't exactly the tall, Scottish chip-shop-boy-esque student Chantelle had been hoping for, but maybe for once Chantelle would hit it off with a girl.

Elise Van de Berg was platinum blonde, and wasn't extraordinarily pretty, but her face was interesting, with sloped, angular features and the incredibly slim, long body of a haute couture model, managing to make the baggy yellow and black Hogwarts uniform look like she was strutting down a Versache runway. It was almost like watching a younger version of Narcissa, aside from the fact that, of course, Narcissa was far more beautiful. They were not even in the same league. No one was.

After a few more people, my name was finally called out.

"Hermione Granger." Standing up, I made my way towards the altar.

"Alright, Narcissa?" I questioned with a cheeky grin, smiling happily at the currently angry blonde. She was always angry when she was around me, though, so I wasn't too bothered. I could, however, almost feel her glare, so strong and furious and burning right through my heart. Merlin, it was fun to wind this woman up.

"Draco Malfoy." called out Sister Michael in a rather strangled voice, and almost every Theophany girl swivelled their heads, searching for the litter of the ferocious woman that had been haunting our halls for what felt like forever.

A few moments of silence passed. I could just tell it was for dramatic effect.

Then, a figure rose from my left.

It was so perfect, I couldn't help but let out a squawking laugh, earning me a glare from both the woman behind me and Sister Michael.  
"Sorry." I giggled.

He was tall, and slightly scrawny, with platinum blonde hair just like his mother’s, combed into a middle parting, giving him the typical 90's boy 'curtains' look. But it was not his impeccable uniform, covered in 'Slytherin' green, apparently the 'worst' house, and it was not his pale skin or his striking eyes that caught me.

It was his fucking face. Seriously? Who shat in his breakfast this morning? He loped towards me with possibly the most impressive sneer I had ever seen, his face was purely burning with hatred, to the point where I was almost concerned for him. His eyes did, however, draw my attention as he drew closer, not alone for the haunted look in them, but for how they shone and sparkled, a crystal blue, surprisingly, a far cry from his mother's icy grey.

"Hi." I grinned at the boy, and he simply glared at me. I wondered for a moment if he was one of those kids in first year that just hissed at everyone instead of making friends. That would be fucking hilarious, of course, but gently bullying the son of Narcissa probably wouldn't earn me anymore favours from her in my book, so I decided if he ever tried to bite me, I would simply reply that I ate a lot of salt and wore fake tan and therefore I wasn't particularily tasty, so he should probably take his efforts elsewhere.

We were ushered out of the hall, under the instruction that we were supposed to show the Hogwarts students how we travel from school to the town of Easkey. Chantelle, Aisling and I found each other as we stood on the grass outside the chapel, our Hogwarts students tagging along awkwardly.

"Elise." said the blonde Hufflepuff, her accent strong and Dutch.

"I'm Rachel." said the Ravenclaw, looking around at us wildly. 

"I'm Hermione Granger, that's Aisling and that's Chantelle." I said with an awkward smile, shifting from foot to foot.

"So that's the Lady Malfoy's young prodigy." Chantelle murmured, raising an eyebrow as we all turned to stare, in a rather unimpressed fashion, at the skinny boy, who was currently standing to the side by himself, scowling at anyone who came within two metres. 

"He somehow looks angrier than I thought he would." I giggled.

"Well, with a mother like that, what do you expect?" Aisling snorted. We turned back to the other Hogwarts students, who were both looking at us in surprise.

"You can't talk about Draco freaking Malfoy like that!" Rachel hissed, looking around wildly.

"Why not?" Chantelle laughed.  
"Because," Rachel looked at us as if we had just told her we were plotting to kill him, "He's a Malfoy! His father could have you locked up in Azkaban just for looking at him the wrong way!"

We all paused, staring at Rachel. She was breathing heavily, but looked relieved as we seemed to have understood her point.

Then, we all burst out laughing.

"Rachel," laughing, Chantelle slapped a hand on the girls' shoulder, "I think I'll take my chances, aye?"  
"Azkaban," I snorted, shaking my head, “What even is that? A strip club?”

"Come on," Aisling wiped a tear from her eye, still giggling, "We'll give you a quick tour of the castle and catch the later bus so it's less crowded."

"Bus?" Elise blinked, looking confused.

"You'll see." I grinned. Rachel was still muttering something about the Malfoys and how she was certainly going to die, but we just moved on, walking up the gravel path in surprisingly comfortable silence. All in all, the two girls didn't seem too bad. Draco Malfoy trailed behind us, the rest of the students far ahead. 

When we reached Theophany, everyone continued on, but we took a left into the school. The tour altogether didn't take very long, and I could tell the girls were slightly unimpressed by the Victorian-esque school/church. Draco Malfoy was still walking behind, but as I spoke about the school I could tell he was listening closely, his eyes following me as I pointed out various things and tried my best to explain them, such as the random Crucifixes on the walls and the occasional teachers who passed by, the majority of them female and dressed as Nuns dress, something they were not quite used to.

"Right, now we'll take you to Easkey. It's the town nearby, where we stay and stuff." Chantelle said, leading the pack as we left the school and headed down the grassy hill. 

"What's that? Is it a house?" Rachel asked in confusion, pointing to the bus stop.  
"It's where the bus will come to. A bus is a... Muggle machine, if you like, that... transports people." Aisling tried her best to explain.

When the bus pulled up, however, Rachel looked absolutely terrified.

"Cian, can you wait a moment?" Chantelle flashed the bus driver her most charming grin, as thankfully there was no one on the bus, and turned to the girls, "Trust me. It's safe."

"Whatever." Elise gave a graceful shrug of her shoulders and got onto the bus with Aisling, none of us needing to pay as the school paid a yearly fee for all students to have the bus journey free.

"I'm not getting on that... thing!" Rachel said, looking absolutely petrified.

"Well, you don't have a choice." Chantelle said, seeming quite over Rachel's hysterics already. Grabbing the Ravenclaw by the arm, she pulled the now shrieking girl on the bus and plopped her down in the seat. Cian, the bus driver, stayed completely calm. He never bothered to question any of the girls from the weird school upon the hill. He was a sensible guy. 

"You coming? Or are you too scared?" I grinned at the blonde boy, who stood a few metres away, glowering.

"I'm not scared of anything, mudblood." he hissed, storming over to the bus and clambering on, looking momentarily confused before taking a seat a few rows down from us. 

Well, that did the trick.

Then the bus was on the move, and Elise was looked pleasantly surprised as the bus raced along the country roads, Cian being Cian and going far faster than the speed limit. Rachel was rather green, but I could see that she was quite enjoying herself as she looked around the grungy bus in wonder.

Draco Malfoy, however, looked abosolutely fucking terrified. He clung to the seat in front, his eyes wrenched shut as I slid into the seat he was clinging onto.

"Hi."

"Agh!" his eyes flew open and he fell back, his heart visibly pounding.

"Draco Malfoy, is it? Your reputation precedes you."

"Yes," he huffed, regaining his composure, straightening his robes, "Of course it does."

"Only joking," I grinned, "Never heard of ya."

"Yes you have!"

"Um... Nope. Just said I haven't."

"You're lying," he let out a cocky laugh, "Everyone knows who I am."

"Oi, Aisling!" I called out, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the blonde boy, "Did you know who this Draco geezer was before this week?"

"Nope. I'm Aisling, by the way!" she said happily, waving at Draco whilst Rachel looked like she wanted to disintegrate on the spot.

"I don't associate with Mudbloods." he sniffed, turning away from me.

"Cool. Anyway... so, we're gonna show you where you'll be staying, then we'll split up for a bit then meet again at the chippy. That okay?”

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Mudblood." he sneered.

"You're such a drama queen," I rolled my eyes, "You literally don't have a choice."

“How come you guys get away with being so… loud?” Rachel suddenly asked in confusion, every one of us turning to look at her as she gave us a contemplative look.

“Because they can’t do jack shit about it.” Chantelle snorted, shaking her head.

“What do you mean?” All of a sudden, Draco turned around from where he was sat, frowning. I decided to spare him from a sarcastic comment and decided to answer.

“There’s only two Muggleborn schools in Great Britain,” I explained, “And there is only one Muggleborn school for girls. Muggleborns aren’t allowed to study outside of the UK, as of five years ago, so they literally can’t kick us out. Honestly, it’s very stupid.”  
“Also, I’m just gonna be a hairdresser,” Chantelle popped her gum and shrugged, “I don’t give a shit about, like, Arithmetics.”

“And I want to be a model,” Aisling said dreamily, “I don’t need Arithmetics.”

“And Hermione will pass anyway,” Chantelle snorted, “Regardless of whether she revises or not, although she started revising for our exams about a year ago.”

“Whatever.” I blushed. Rachel looked surprised, yet impressed. We arrived in the town not more than ten minutes later, and it was a short walk from the bus stop to Theophany Street. Rachel and even Elise looked quite weary of the Muggles, who often stared as we walked by due to the odd Hogwarts attire they donned. 

There were four empty houses this year - two for girls, two for boys, and thankfully Rachel and Elise were in the same one. 

"Meet back here in five?" I suggested, and Aisling and Chantelle nodded before crossing the street to number Seven. 

"This is where I'm staying?" Draco looked up at the narrow Victorian house in disgust, acting as if I had just told him he was to be sleeping on the bench in the front garden all week.

"Yup. I've been staying in a house like this for six years so I'm sure you'll get over it," Brushing past the boy, I walked up to the front door, "Do you know what this is?" I held up a small metal object and he squinted, taking a step closer.

"Of course I do," Draco sniffed, "That's a key. But I have no use for that. I'll just use Alohamora."

"Yeah well, um, no, you can't. It's a Muggle town. Muggles walk up and down here all the time. Keys only." With a shrug, I handed him the key and he glared down at the object as if just looking at it, it would disintegrate into molten silver. With a sigh, the blonde stepped forward and put the key in the lock. "Other way round." I sighed, feeling as if I was talking to a young child. He got it the right way this time, and soon the door was pushed open.

"There," he huffed, "Wasn't difficult."

"Right." I rolled my eyes. The layout of all the houses were the same, and I showed him through the kitchen, living room, past his House Master's quarters and up to the bedroom on the top floor. I knew he was used to living in a dorm room, but the ones at Hogwarts were likely far more glamourous than the bare wood floors and peeling wallpaper of Number 19, Theophany St. Easkey.

It seemed all of this had worn Draco out, for he didn't so much as glance around the room, merely spotted his suitcase at the foot of a single bed by the window and gave a short nod. 

"Maybe, uh, before we go out, lose the robes?"

"My robes? Why?" he frowned.

"Lose unwanted attention." I shrugged. Draco just gave a resigned sigh and shrugged them off, With the robes gone, Draco looked far more like a normal school boy, and I felt far more confident as we left the house.

When we met up all together again, although it was not for long as Aisling was as hungry as she always was, and Chantelle wanted to take Elise somewhere that involved hanging around the local boys, so once again, we split up.

"Where are we going now, Mudblood?" Draco sneered, hands on his hips, looking far more like a stroppy, petulant child than an intimidating, rich, pureblood.

"We'll go for a walk!" I announced with a grin, setting off ahead at a face pace.

"A walk!?" he called out, chasing awkwardly after me, "Where to?"

"Up a hill." I responded with a shrug. We had only just made it to the end of the street and Draco was already out of breath. It made sense that he was so pale, he clearly didn't get out much. Not even five minutes later, we were out of the town and heading along an old gravel road through a valley between two hills, the sun actually shining down upon us for once as we walked along, each in our differing school uniforms. 

"So what house are you in?" Draco asked after at least ten minutes of silence, the whole time with him walking behind me. We were far out in the country now, and there was a soft wind guiding us on our way. 

"Pardon?"

"Y'know. Hogwarts house. Do you guys not have houses?"

"Nah," I shrugged, slowing my pace slightly, "We all had a sorting in our first year. But it was two weeks after the term had started, as the hat had to travel between Hogwarts and the boys Muggleborn school, and because the houses didn't count for anything, no one really cared. Everyone's forgotten what house they're in now."

"Oh," said Draco, before falling into a bout of silence. I supposed, from what I could gather through the books I read and meeting the students today, their lives even after school were very much dictated by the house they were sorted into. Despite being in the same year group, Elise, who was a Hufflepuff, and Rachel, who was a Ravenclaw, both appeared not to know each other very well, if at all. In Theophany, everyone knew everyone.

We had lapsed into silence again, and I felt I could almost see the wheels in Draco's head turning.

"What's it like being a Mudblood?" Draco suddenly burst out. He appeared very different now, away from all of his fellow students. Like he had no one to impress but me, and by the way he continued to use the derogatory slang 'Mudblood' I could tell he didn't think there was much to impress.

"Shit," I responded immediately, and I realised it was the first time I had admitted that aloud. I liked to pretend that everything was fine and dandy, and that I was proud of who I was, but in reality, that just wasn’t the case.

“Why?”

“Why?” I snorted, assuming he must have been joking.

“What? I mean, yeah, you have dirty blood, but you all seem to do fine in the Muggle world.”

“You’re taking the fucking piss,” I stopped dead on the side of the small gravel path, squinting in the sunlight as I turned to face the spoilt blonde, “You must be.” my Irish accent started to fade slightly as the English in me revealed itself the angrier I got. 

“Errr… no.” He blinked.

“Fucking hell!” turning, I stormed off ahead, Draco jogging to catch up as I tried to control my temper.

“Hermione!” he called out, and it was the first time he had actually used my name since he arrived, preferring the moniker of ‘Mudblood’. I stopped and turned, my arms folded crossly and my heartbeat pounding dangerously as adrenaline rushed around my brain.

“What!?” I huffed, angrily looking at the boy who now stood in front of me, panting breathlessly, his porcelain cheeks now blemished a deep red.

“Why are you storming off ahead, Mudblood?” he complained, not quite realising what he was saying.

And that was it. Without a single second passing after he said that Godforsaken word, my hand was moving quite out of control and I landed a quick, fast and precise punch right on his pointy white nose.

“Argh!” I shouted angrily, shaking my fist as a bolt of pain shot through it. My fist had connected so hard with his face that a sharp ‘crack!’ had sounded in the air and Draco fell dramatically to the ground, blood pouring from his nose. A few seconds passed, in which Draco whimpered on the floor and I stood in the blazing sun, standing above him with sweat dripping from my hairline. Momentarily, the sun was blocked and there was a gentle flap of wings as two wonderful raven crows swooped above and dove down to glide above the crystal river of the welsh valley.

Another moment passed. At the very least, I expected a barrage of angry slurs to head my way, or perhaps for him to unsheath his wand, and send a hundred curses my way. Instead, the words he spoke caused me to stand still in shock.

“Well, Granger, are you going to help me or not?” he hissed. So he had given up on ‘Mudblood’, but ‘Hermione’ was a bit too friendly for him. So, ‘Granger’ it was.

“You want my help?” I blinked in confusion. I had just punched the boy in the face - he should be screaming and running for the hills. Instead, he looked up at me with watering eyes as if he was about to cry, “Right, yes, okay, shit,” I gulped and, bending down, immediately produced a tissue from my pocket to hold to his nose, “Right, uh-” I paused, wondering what to call him. I decided a mirror of what he had called me was the best option, “Malfoy, tilt your head forward,” he did as I said, “Now pinch your nostrils together just below the bony center part of your nose.”

“Bloody hell.” grumbled the boy.

“Now hold it there. Sorry about that.” I mumbled.

“Are you?”

“Nah. Not really.” I smiled despite the throbbing pain in my right knuckle and the constant pounding of an aching headache. Oh, and the thought that as soon as Narcissa finds out about this she will have me hung, drawn and quartered in the middle of the village. 

Holding out a hand, I was quite surprised when Draco took it, allowing me to help him up, “Thanks.” he said. And then, in quite the oddest fashion, we continued as if it had never happened, and I might have believed it was all some strange daydream were it not for his slight limp and the bloody tissue he held to his nose. 

“Do you want to know why it’s so shit?”

“Huh?” Draco suddenly turned to me, fear in his eyes.

“I’m not gonna punch you again,” I sighed, “Just… I don’t think you quite realise how absolutely ignorant you sound.”

“What do you mean? I mean, yeah, you’re a Muggleborn and that’s like super unlucky, but at least you’re not… I dunno, killed for it or whatever.”

“Well, for starters,” I began, looking anywhere but the boys eyes, “Yes, Muggleborns are killed for it. I’m not entirely sure what Newspapers you’ve been reading, but the rate of hate crimes against Muggleborns resulting in death has risen by 12% this year. You’re a smart enough boy to know that’s a pretty high figure.”

“Wait - hate crimes?” Draco blinked.

“Then there’s the blatant racism,” Ignoring Draco completely, I continued, “I have only ever worn my Theophany uniform to Diagon Alley once. It was the first time, and the last time I would ever do that. I arrived with my mother, minding my own business, and left with a broken arm, a black eye and a patch of my hair ripped out. By a group of grown men. I was 12.”

“Oh.”

“Then, there’s the systematic oppression against people with my blood status,” we crossed a small stream twinkling is the soft haze of the early afternoon sun, and I could see now that Draco had begun to cry, “Have you ever wondered why you have never seen a Muggleborn in a position of power?”

“Err… no,” Draco tripped slightly on a rock, regaining his balance not a moment later, “My Father says it is because they aren’t… um… clever enough.” as soon as the words escaped his mouth, it was almost like Draco could taste something bitter as he scrunched up his nose and looked to correct himself, although unable to find the right words to apologise.

“The system is utterly corrupt. So, at both Theophany and the boy’s Muggleborn school we study both A Levels and Newts - three A Levels and two Newts, although you can do as many as you would like depending on if the teachers think you’re capable. For example, Chantelle only takes three A Levels and a Newt, whereas I take four A Levels and four Newts.”

“Merlin, that’s a lot,” Draco frowned, “What is an ‘Ay Level’?”

“Basically the Muggle equivalent of Newts. But it literally doesn’t matter. Newts don’t matter, I mean.”

“Why not?” the blonde asked cluelessly.

Taking a deep breath, I felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry as I turned my face to the wind and let the soft, crisp, Irish breeze caress my face, “No one takes Muggleborn students. As soon as they apply and the name of our school appears, the application is tossed in the bin. DId you know that there’s a law that workplaces are only allowed to employ workers over the age of 30? That means that students literally can’t get a job in the Wizarding world, but no one has tried to contest it because the Wizengamot simply fires back with the fact that they are able to get jobs in the Muggle world so why would they need a job here anyway?”

“But, uh, isn’t that illegal?” 

“It’s not illegal,” I snorted, “It’s racist, it’s inhumane… but it’s the law. It’s not illegal. Laws aren’t illegal. And most people don’t even know that law exists. People just follow the herd. Chantelle never even considered training to be a hairdresser through Wizarding channels, learning to use her wand as a styling tool. She just learnt the Muggle way, and if she tried to do the Wizarding way I doubt she would have even be allowed. Pretty much every Muggleborn ends up integrating into the Muggle world and either gets a job or goes to University. 

“What is a University?” Draco frowned, looking puzzled.

“Just like extra education really. But it’s quite difficult to get a job without having been unless you specified in something at an early age.”

“But… what about people that aren’t good enough?” 

“Only those that fail in their Muggle lives end up back in the wizarding world, which is where you get your cleaners and your pub workers because they’re usually over 30 but have barely enough qualifications to become a receptionist. Then Muggleborns are seen as barely contributing to wizarding society and as lower class due to Purebloods and Halfbloods only being exposed to the… less intelligent. Therefore the attitudes to muggleborns are reinforced and the cycle continues. Most people just don’t realise. And that’s probably the most heartbreaking thing about it.”

Draco Malfoy never replied. We began to follow the path leading home. The gravel beneath our feet crunched obnoxiously and it was the only noise we heard, for the swishing of the trees was not as loud as it often was with the wind careful and gentle and almost comforting. The Malfoy heir did not storm angrily ahead of me, nor did he trail stroppily behind me. He simply walked beside me in complete and utter silence, his eyebrows softly furrowed as if deep in thought.


End file.
